


Scissors Can't Cut Strings

by e_cat



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: I feel like it's a nice thing though?, I think it's a nice thing, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Neil's fifth year, honestly though the plot of this is so simple and I do like to leave a little bit out, it has Andrew and Neil expressing their care for one another in the ways that they do, why are all my summaries so short?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 15:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13720596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_cat/pseuds/e_cat
Summary: It's not Valentine's Day that has Neil missing Andrew.





	Scissors Can't Cut Strings

**Author's Note:**

> Written as an AFTG Exchange fic for scattered-shadows

Ever since Neil’s second year, at least half of the PSU Exy team had shown up for the Vixens’ annual Valentine’s charity event. That meant two hours of raucous athletes making near-illegible cards for sick kids in the hospital, and also wasting a good deal of construction paper. Whichever Vixens had drawn the short straws and been put in charge always looked frazzled and sometimes resentful by the end of it, but they still advocated for athletes giving back every year.

That first year had been Neil’s first time making a Valentine’s card. He didn’t imagine that Andrew had ever made one, either, though he hadn’t asked. Andrew hadn’t broken that pattern, and instead spent the event opening and closing a pair of safety scissors in a vaguely threatening way. In later years, Neil had gotten him to put those scissors to good use, cutting out the lopsided hearts Neil had traced for his cards. This year, the weight of scissors fell awkwardly on his own fingers.

The chaos of the charity event seemed worse than usual today. In his mind, Neil ascribed it to the absence of Andrew and his intimidating glare, but it could also be partly due to the loss of Katelyn’s stern supervision. The Vixens had put a couple sophomores in charge of organizing the event, and Neil was surprised that none of them had started crying yet. He, at least, had promised his team that any poor behavior would result in them running laps for the entirety of the next practice, but the other team captains didn’t seem to have made any threats.

A shout and a crumpled ball of paper soaring past his face reminded Neil that, perhaps, his threat hadn’t seemed serious enough. He shot a disapproving look at the group of his teammates who’d thrown the ball and told himself that he was still in control.

It was a pretty lie. The truth was that by the end of the fall semester, Neil had lost all sense of center. Christmas break with Andrew hadn’t been long enough to fully restore him, and by this point, he was sinking again. The thing was, this was his team, but it wasn’t _his_ team. Yes, these people had been through difficult times and overcome obstacles to become great Exy players. But Neil just didn’t feel the same connection to them that he had with the team he’d started with. He didn’t think he could.

Allison had visited in early November, and she’d said that Katelyn and Aaron were struggling with the same thing, at their medical schools three hours apart. Neil didn’t think it was the same thing. Katelyn and Aaron were separate, in a way, from the rest of them. Neil had tangled himself up in the entire team, though Andrew had been the tightest knot, and each thread had been ripped away from him. Andrew was a four-hour plane ride away. It was too far for a weekend visit, and apparently, college had fewer significant breaks than Neil had once thought. Phone calls and care packages could only count for so much.

“Neil.” Gomez, one of the freshmen, stood before him. He looked anxious and jittery, because he always did. Discomfort was etched into the protective arch of his shoulders, and Neil wondered that he’d come to the event at all.

“What’s up?” he said. “You need me for something?”

Gomez shuffled his feet. “Um, well, there’s a – there’s a package for you at the dorm.”

Neil frowned at him. They all had boxes at the postal center, so mail wasn’t really supposed to come straight to the dorm. “How big is it?”

Gomez chewed his lip and stuttered, clearly unsure how to answer. Neil sighed. “Big enough to hold a severed head?” he asked, and immediately regretted it. Honestly, joining this team wasn’t going help Gomez’s nerves one bit.

“N-no,” the poor kid choked out, eyes wide enough to be on the verge of tears. “It’s, um, shorter. Longer. I – I don’t think –”

“Sorry,” Neil said. “Forget it.” He looked down at the pile of sorry-looking valentines he’d crafted. He couldn’t understand how Andrew had ever managed to cut in such perfect lines.

“All right.” Neil pushed back from the table, making Gomez flinch back. “You want to take over for me?” Neil offered him, feeling a little bad that kid would soon be left with – well, the group of idiots trying to glue scraps of paper to Liu’s face. “You can keep track of who needs to run laps next practice.” Gomez seemed hesitant, so Neil added, “You don’t have to. I’m sure the Vixens will report back to me anyways.”

Gomez nodded rapidly. “Thank you,” he whispered, fingers tapping anxiously on his thigh. Neil gestured for him to lead the way from the lobby, and he practically sprinted out. Neil himself took a more leisurely approach, stopping by the head table to turn in his completed cards and say goodbye to a couple of the Vixens. By the time he got upstairs, Gomez was already wringing his hands, looking in distress at the box laid across their doorway.

“You could have gone in,” Neil informed him, but it was a side thought. His mouth was working into a grin as he examined the box. He tried to talk himself out of premature conclusions, but he had a suspicion of what this box held. With Gomez still looking afraid to step over the box to enter the room, Neil maneuvered it upright and pushed it through the door.

Forgetting Gomez and the mess of textbooks and laundry in the living room, Neil took his box directly to his room and shut the door. He’d dialed Andrew’s number almost before he’d found the scissors. When Andrew picked up, he was halfway through cutting off the tape wrapped around the package. “This isn’t what I think it is,” he said in greeting.

“Of course not,” Andrew replied, sounding almost disapproving. “It’s not for Valentine’s. I put that on the card.”

“I haven’t read the card,” Neil defended. “It’s not even open yet, there’s so much fucking tape.”

“Oh,” Andrew said, and he sounded amused. It didn’t take just as much these days to get Andrew’s attention, but it still felt like a triumph. It still felt like a promise.

“All right,” Neil said. “I think that’s all of it. Do you want a drumroll?”

“No.”

Neil drummed on the cardboard box anyways, enjoying the look he could imagine on Andrew’s face right now. At long last, he pulled open the box. He’d missed a piece of tape near the far corner, and the cardboard bent before coming open. Neil wasn’t paying attention to that.

“Andrew,” he breathed. “Fuck.”

Inside the box, there was a long, elegant Exy racquet, painted in Andrew’s team colors. It even had Andrew’s number on the handle, even though it was meant for a striker.

“I stole it from the supply closet,” Andrew informed him blandly. “So you may be questioned by the police, but that isn’t new for you.”

“You’re an awful liar,” Neil replied. “I don’t know how you did it, but – wow.” He took the racquet out and ran his hands over it. It was – beautiful. It, too, was a promise – one day, they would wear the same colors again; for now, they had this.

“This is the only time I’m ever giving you Exy paraphernalia,” Andrew said. “Have you even read the card?”

Neil riffled for it in the box while holding onto both the phone and the racquet with his other hand. “I’m sure it’s very romantic,” he said with sarcasm, and was proved right when he found the simple card: N – Not for Valentine’s. Don’t break it. – A.

Helplessly, Neil laughed. “I found it,” he said. “You have quite the way with words.”

“You can sneak into practice next time you’re here,” Andrew said, and it was almost as if he didn’t care. “I’m sure you’ll relish being able to practice on vacation.”

Neil eyed the spare jersey he’d stolen from Andrew, hanging up in his closet. “You don’t think they’ll be suspicious over another Minyard, running up and down the court and scoring goals on you?” he teased.

“Well,” Andrew said, “I think I’m going to take that as you encouraging me to play hooky.”

Neil closed his eyes and leaned back against the edge of the mattress, too happy to ruin it with his empty room. There were strings that tied him to Andrew, and they couldn’t be cut, no matter how far they stretched. Even apart, the knots only grew tighter. One day, Neil vowed, he would give Andrew a racquet, too, as they prepared to step onto a court together.


End file.
